Orange Cardamom Pound Cake

There is something really inviting about old friends in familiar settings. We are often tempted to want what once was (like croissants and cold mornings), in hopes that returning to our past will fulfill some sort of hollowness in the present. Were we somehow able to travel backwards in time, I don't doubt that many of us would slip into our youthful bodies and relive an experience or two. I've considered this often and always end up at the same question: Would our minds time travel in the same way our bodies do? If it were possible to make the jump, would we be able to or, more importantly, want to unlearn what we already know now?

Moving in time without seeing how or why we might want to change the past is interesting in the way it reflects the idea of ignorance is bliss. Yes, we could be happy again at age 7, 15, or 20, but it would only lead us back to where we are now. Without knowing what kind of days or people may be waiting for us in the future of the past, we would charge forward blindly, just as we already had. 

But the more I think about it, having experienced what led me to this point in my life has made me understand why everything came before is so indispensable. I would want to remember why I chose to return to a certain day or event and either maximize the pleasure of happiness or minimize the pain of a damning memory. It seems to me that reliving something exactly as it was in the past would be almost the same as remembering in the present but with much more complicated details about time and space continuums.

Having said that, I wouldn't mind returning to the instant my tongue touched a cup of cardamom tea. At the time, I was seated in an apartment with some of the best people I know I will ever meet. My friend M handed me a steaming mug that smelled familiar and exotic like musty basements filled with family memoirs waiting to be remembered. Looking back, it's hard to believe that I had lived so long without knowing how beautifully intricate and extensive cardamom could be alone.

A spice I previously considered to be only one component in complex flavor profiles was now standing in front of me on its own two feet. The tea burned my throat and the essence warmed my belly. Frankly, it was the best cups of anything I had ever tasted. But even though the robustness of that tea lingered on my palate, I still preferred it blended with cinnamon and ginger. The combination was traditional, and I reveled in the comfort. I didn't see a need to coax the cardamom and understand its individuality. Now I understand that I was very, very wrong.

For this recipe I knew I wanted to avoid a traditional pound cake. Orange seemed a nice fit, but never a big fan of dreamsicles, I needed to mellow the citrus with a vanilla alternative. Enter M's cup of creamy milk and tea. The cardamom and orange batter was bright and spicy, creamy yet sharp, and well suited for the soon-to-be-spring weather of the afternoon. The cardamom lifted above the orange and blossomed into its own. My only regret was that this awakening hadn't occurred sooner. If I knew back then in M's apartment what I know now, I would have made my way into the kitchen cupboard late at night and stolen every single tea sachet until I satisfied my thirst and curiosity.

Up until a certain point, I understood my friendship with M, and most other people in my life, as I did cardamom. I wasn't able to separate anyone from a specific group because I considered them to be elements of a greater experience. Like everyone else, the people of M's apartment were a unit, and a dinner or party without one member felt incomplete.

Then our lives started taking us to a different cities and priorities. As our paths diverged, we lost the convenience of a central gathering room and old friends took hold of new places. Passing conversations revealed more about each person than before and I began to realize that these were not the people I remembered. They were better because I knew more. I started thinking that sometimes the whole might be greater than the sum of its parts, but only if the parts are wonderful to begin with.

We can't time travel yet and I can't go back to that living room where we all sat for tea. For all of the conversations that should have already happened, I've settled with trying to fill in the holes now. M has been jetting around the world, saving our humanity as she was meant to do, but will be returning home soon for a visit. If she's reading, I hope that when we see each other she'll bring some tea because I'll have the cake ready, and we can sit down to talk about how she came to be.

Orange Cardamom Pound Cake

Adapted from Epicurious

Yields 10 to 12 servings

Pound Cake

3 cups all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons ground cardamom

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 cup (8 ounces) sour cream

2 tablespoons milk

3 tablespoons orange juice (about half an orange)

1 teaspoon orange extract

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 tablespoon orange zest

2 sticks unsalted butter, softened

4 large eggs

***

Vanilla Glaze

1 cup confectioner's sugar

2 tablespoons milk

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

For pound cake:

Preheat oven 350°F. Flour a bundt pan by greasing the pan with butter and spooning a generous amount of flour into the bottom. Cover entire pan by tilting and tapping sides as you rotate pan. When the inside surface is completely coated, turn pan over and tap bottom to remove an excess flour. Butter and flour used in this step is in addition to amount noted in recipe.

Sift together flour, cardamom, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Divide mixture into thirds.

In a separate bowl, whisk sour cream, milk, orange juice, orange extract, and vanilla extract until smooth. Stir in orange zest. Divide mixture in half.

In a mixing bowl of a stand mixer fitted with paddle attachment, beat together butter and granulated sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at at time, mixing well after each addition. On low speed, add flour and sour cream in 5 alternating batches, starting and ending with the flour mixture, until just combined.

Transfer batter into floured pan. Smooth top and gently tap pan on counter to remove air bubbles.

Bake on middle rack for about 1 hour or until a wooden skewer inserted into center of cake comes out clean. Cool cake in pan 10 minutes, then invert onto wire rack and cool completely.

For glaze:
Whisk together confectioner's sugar, milk, and vanilla extract until smooth. If glaze is too thick, add more milk by 1/2 teaspoonfuls until thin enough to spread. Pour over cooled cake just before serving.